The Suicide of Arthur Kirkland
by ArthurIsAwesome
Summary: What happens to Alfred after Arthur kills himself? Warning: It's got a lot of diary entries and text-type thingies and Facebook D: so yeah. EDIT: Adding an epilogue to explain WHY. If you liked it better when it was left to your own interpretation...
1. Chapter 1

_Dear Diary,_

_I think it was chilly out today. I don't remember. The sky looks grey, so I guess it was cold. Christmas is probably going to be be here soon, I don't remember what day or month it is, but there are Christmas trees all over and people keep singing "Jingle Bells" in town. I can't bring myself to sing with them. I can't believe Matthew is making me keep a diary. This is stupid._

Alfred stood on shaky legs, discarding the diary into a drawer in his dresser. He turned to his bed, ripping off his jacket quickly before collapsing on the red, white, and blue sheets. He sighed, pulling his glasses off his lightly tanned face, and shut off the bright, yellow-ish light from his lamp. He felt cold. He shut his eyes, and slowly fell asleep.

**Text from: Froggy Bonnefoy**

_**Alfred? You have to stop ignoring me, and everyone else. This has gone on far enough. Why don't you talk to us, Amerique?**_

The American glanced down at his iPhone. He only barely took in the words from the text. "I don't wanna..." he whispered, and he was surprised when he felt tears forming in his eyes. He quickly shut the phone off, slamming it down on the ground. It had a case, so it went undamaged. Alfred sobs were loud as he ran back to his room.

_Dear Diary,_

_I don't know why I keep writing in you. A few months ago, it would have been fun. I could have been laughing about it. Mattie says that writing down my feelings helps. But I don't want anyone to know how I feel. Even you, stupid diary. It's personal. _

"Alfred!"

Alfred snapped the diary shut, shoving it under his pillow. He sat up as soon as a man who looked a lot like him threw his door open. "Mattie? What do you want?" The Canadian was blushing, his violet eyes looked wary and uncertain. "Well, Francis said you won't reply to his texts, and you haven't been answering my phone calls. I was just worried about you, you are my brother..."

Alfred stood up and offered a weak smile. "Come on Mattie, I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine. I just... lost my phone. I'll text you as soon as I find it, ok?" Matthew nodded a bit, backing out of his twin's room slowly. "Are you coming to the next World Meeting?" The American shrugged, smiling a bit wider, but it was very forced. "Who knows, Mattie? I mean, as long as I don't get sick or anything, then of course I'll be there!" Matthew only nodded as he retreated out of his brothers house.

**Text From: Mattie Williams**

_**I saw you looking at your phone today during the meeting. You didn't say a single world through the whole thing! Are u still upset...? Plz call me Al...**_

Alfred jumped as the message popped up on his screen. He frowned and clicked "Close" because he didn't_ feel_ like replying to Matthew. He couldn't reply to Matthew. Not while he was looking at his pictures... He felt his throat tighten, he felt his face redden and his neck grow hot. How many tears would he have to shed? He only clenched his phone tighter, staring at one picture, until the tears came and splattered the screen.

_Dear Fucking Diary,_

_I don't think I can hang on anymore. I miss him. I miss my Artie. He was my Artie, and now he's gone and he can no longer be mine. He can't tell his stupid brothers or Francis or Kiku or anyone that he was mine, but he WAS. He was MY ARTHUR. Why does no one believe me when I say that he loved me?_

The American pressed the pen into the paper, feeling sweat bead on his face. He kept pressing right there on the question mark, until he heard the pen snap and black ink splat all over the page, but thankfully not on any of the words he had written. He screamed and shut the accursed book, throwing it against the wall with all the strength he had. "Dammit Arthur!" he cried, punching his lamp, which fell from the desk and landed with a loud crash.

"You promised you'd never leave me again!"

**Text from: Froggy Bonnefoy**

**Alfred, you aren't returning Mattie's calls. We both saw your phone. Answer!**

**Text from: Mattie Williams**

**I know you're still sad about Arthur, ok? But u have to talk to me about it! **

**Text from: Kiku-ka-chu**

**Amerika-san, I am hearing many things about you lately. Please, talk to someone. You are more than welcome to talk to me whenever you want to.**

Alfred hooked his phone up to his computer, ignoring the messages. He swiftly clicked "Import Pictures" and watched as all his photos uploaded swiftly onto his computer. As soon as the process had been completed, he took his phone and removed it from its case. He smiled as he trotted into the kitchen, the tile floor shining after it's recent cleaning. He threw it down, and it cracked horribly. He continued the process until it was just bits and pieces on the floor. Sighing, he returned to the computer, leaving the pieces on the ground, untouched.

He went into the new file and titled it "Arthur", feeling his shoulders beginning to tremble. The American looked through the photos, pausing at one, and stared at it. His eyes began to water as he continued to look at the computer screen, ignoring the minutes, hours, passing by. Alfred exhaled softly, feeling his head hang down and he clutched his dark blond hair, his glasses falling from his face.

"Alfred! Hey, Alfred, please stop walking away! Wait up! ALFRED!"

The tall nation stopped, standing rigid in the street. He turned around to see Matthew running towards him. He looked scared, and angry. Those two emotions, when on Matthew, killed Alfred inside. He groaned, smiling a bit, but only a bit. "Hey Mattie! What are you doing in D.C.?" The Canadian had caught up with him now.Matthew yelped, hugging his brother immediately. Alfred lurched a bit, slowly returning it. He noticed Matthew was sobbing violently.

"Mattie! What... What's wrong, Matt...?"

Violet eyes locked with blue, and the owner of the former whispered,"Alfred, I was so scared. You haven't spoken to me in over a week... I was afraid... You'd... Alfred, please talk to me! Please! Please, tell me what you need to say! I'll listen to you! I'll help you, Alfred! Let _me _be a hero this time!"

The American clutched his brother tighter. "You can't be my hero Mattie." Matthew sobbed loudly, bending down to the ground, covering his face with his hands. Alfred gently rubbed his brother's back, whispering,"My hero is dead."

_Dear Diary,_

_I don't know what I can do to get Mattie to realize that he can't help me. I feel bad about it. But he can't help me. No one can. Does no one understand? I lost my Artie... And if I keep on like this... What if I follow in his footsteps?_

Alfred tried to write more, the new pen leaving light scribbles on the page. He wanted to write that he would never do that, never take the route Arthur did, never hurt people... But the hurt he felt tore his heart apart. How could Arthur have done that to him? He sobbed weakly, but there were no tears left. They had all fallen. He stood up, leaving his bedroom and retreating into the living room where his laptop was sitting on the coffee table.

He grabbed it with his long, somewhat muscular arms. Pulling it into his lap, he opened Facebook, staring at his wall. He was only friends with the other nations, and some other people he had met at work that were allowed to be trusted with the fact that Alfred F. Jones was the personification of the United States of America. He clicked "Upload Photo" and sighed, grabbing the file. That one file. With that one picture. He felt tears well up as he posted it, staring at it. He watched the comments pile up, but he didn't reply to any of them.

_**Matthew Williams **Oh... Alfred..._

_**Francis Bonnefoy **Alfred, please call me? We were never close but I just... I wish I could just talk to you about him..._

_**Feliciano Vargas **It was a good picture D,:_

_**Kiku Honda **That it was, Feli... I'm sorry for not believe you, Amerika-san..._

Alfred watched as almost every single country began posting comments. He watched them, read them... All of them were sympathetic towards HIM. Towards ALFRED. He groaned rubbing his eyes, before typing a comment of his own.

_**Alfred F. Jones (Hero!) **I don't want you guys saying sorry to me. I don't deserve it. You should feel sorry for Arthur. Not me. Arthur was the one who killed himself, so obviously we weren't good enough for him..._

_**Francis Bonnefoy **Alfred, please do not think that! _

_**Matthew Williams **You were good enough for him, Al..._

Alfred snarled and shut the laptop off.

Matthew stared at the picture Alfred had posted. It was, as Feliciano had pointed out, a very good picture. The lighting was perfect, so it seemed, as if it came from a movie. It was of Arthur and Alfred, you could only see their waist's up. They were kissing, their lips were just barely touching. One of Alfred's hands had cupped Arthur's face, and Arthur had his arms wrapped around the tall nation's neck. It was a truly wonderful picture.

Such powerful love, so shortly lived.

The young nation, that was forgotten more often than not, turned to face Francis. "Look..."

The taller blond nation with the slightly stubbly chin stood, his famous smirk on his lips. "What is it _Matthieu_? Anything inter-" he cut off, staring at the picture for a long time,"...esting..."

Alfred sighed loudly.

_Dear Diary, _

_I guess there are a lot of things I have to write down._

_I loved Arthur Kirkland. He loved me. He never told anyone, but I guess that picture of us will do, right? He made me promise not to show anyone, but I had to prove it. He loved me. I guess that's all I have to say, other than I'm sorry. To Matthew, to Francis, to everyone who has tried to help me these past weeks. You guys have who you love the most in your life. Francis, treat Mattie well, ok? And Matthew, there is something I have to tell you that Arthur never told me._

_It is NOT your fault. No matter what you think. I'm not even blaming Arthur. It's just my time, you know? I can't live without him anymore. It's not fair. Life can't go on without my Arthur._

The youthful nation set the diary down on the table by the front door to his house. He scribbled '_Mattie_' on a piece of paper and left it on top of the small book. Scratching the back of his head nervously, he stalked back into his kitchen. He grabbed a knife, it was nothing special, but it was sharp. Whimpering, he walked upstairs.

"I'll be with you soon, Arthur... I love you."


	2. Epilogue: Too Late

Epilogue:

Matthew clutched Francis' hand, staring down at the ornate coffin. It was made from maple wood, and it gleamed under the bright light of the sun. The president was there, as well as some other world leaders. Many countries had graced the funeral with their presence, including Ivan, much to everyone's surprise. The Canadian was the most hurt among them, but everyone had died a little inside

After a long day of boring meetings, in which almost all of them he had been completely ignored, Matthew had decided to once again fly to Washington D.C. This time was it! He was going to set Alfred up an appointment with a psychologist of some sort, and have a long talk with him about Arthur. Why hadn't either of them told Matthew that they had been a couple?

Leaning back in the chair on the plane, so many thoughts ran through his head. Why had Arthur committed suicide in the first place? He left without anything. No note, no last will and testament. He wondered suddenly if anyone was taking care of Peter. Matthew sighed, rubbing his face roughly. Alfred first, Peter next.

He sighed, looking out the window. America was lit up with bright, beautiful lights, as it always was. The sun was almost set, Matthew noted, as the plane landed. He pulled out his cell phone, dialing a long-ago memorized number.

"Francis?"

"_Ah, Matthieu! _How are you? Are you in America yet?"

"Yeah, but uh... I'm just, really bothered by this whole thing. Why did Arthur kill himself? Does anyone know?"

He heard a long paused, then a raspy sigh from the other end.

"I'm not sure. I have asked Peter, but Peter had no idea. He actually didn't seem all that upset. I think he is inheriting the United Kingdom. Anyways, I've been all through _Anglettere's _house, and not a single note of any kind was found."

Matthew groaned. "Did you check in his library?"

"... Library, _Matthieu_? Why would I check there?"

"It doesn't matter now! Just go check! Look through every book! Call me when - IF you find something!"

Matthew hung up, and began running down the streets of D.C., not bothering to call for a cab. He knew where his brother lived, and it wasn't very far from the airport. He panted, feeling a bit sick, but he was unsure why. He was feeling a strange pain in his lower back, the part of him where America was...

As he came to his brother's door, he knocked impatiently. Alfred hardly ever answered these days, so Matthew just opened the door and stepped right in, looking around. "Alfred? Alfred, it's me, Matthew! I want to talk to... you..." Matthew trailed off as his glance turned to the diary on the table.

Alfred's diary.

With his name above it.

Matthew grabbed it frantically, skimming the pages. He only caught bits and pieces of some of Alfred's writings as he attempted to find the last entry.

_Maybe I'm coming down with something_

_Mattie said it was natural_

_I just loved him and God took him away_

_I can't take this shit_

Matthew halted as he came to the newest piece of writing Alfred had done.

_Dear Diary,_

_I guess there are a lot of things I have to write down._

_I loved Arthur Kirkland. He loved me. He never told anyone, but I guess that picture of us will do, right? He made me promise not to show anyone, but I had to prove it. He loved me. I guess that's all I have to say, other than I'm sorry. To Matthew, to Francis, to everyone who has tried to help me these past weeks. You guys have who you love the most in your life. Francis, treat Mattie well, ok? And Matthew, there is something I have to tell you that Arthur never told me._

_It is NOT your fault. No matter what you think. I'm not even blaming Arthur. It's just my time, you know? I can't live without him anymore. It's not fair. Life can't go on without my Arthur._

"ALFRED!" Matthew screamed, tearing through the house.

He flew upstairs, his heart pounding. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears, he felt sick. He felt dead. Why did Alfred do this? He swung the door to Alfred's bedroom open, but it was empty. He turned and sprinted down the hall to the bathroom. "ALFRED!"

Matthew looked into the tub, where Alfred lay, blood pouring from his wrist. He was dead, he had been dead for a while now. He had a scary, somewhat eerie smile plastered on his pale, lifeless face. He was with Arthur at last.

"No..."

He couldn't take it, the sight of his twin, lying there, dead. "NO! No Alfred, PLEASE! GOD no! No!" The Canadian sobbed, clutching his brother, even though his clothes became stained with the other's crimson blood. Why did he have to lose Arthur _and _his brother, too? It wasn't fair. Suddenly, his phone started ringing.

"Hello, _Matthieu! _I do not know how you knew, _mon cher_, but I did indeed find Arthur's suicide note! You must tell Alfred!"

Matthew cried, his voice cracking wildly,"I can't Francis," he dropped the phone from his bloody fingertips, clawing at his scalp with rage,"he's gone."

Francis squeezed Matthew's hand as the other nations began to come up to speak, sharing stories and fond memories of the loud, boisterous country. Ivan had even swallowed his pride and had allowed himself to say,"I was not close to Alfred, no, never. But, I always respected him."

When it was Francis' turn, he let go of Matthew's hand and walked forward to stand in front of them all. He cleared his voice, for once not joking about how sexy he looked in a suit or how everyone should be thankful that the passionate man was willing to speak.

"I do not have much to say about _Amerique_, but I do want to read you all something."

He pulled a folded paper out of his pocket.

"It reads '_Dear Alfred_

_'You surely hate me for doing this to you, but you must remember, it is not your fault. I love you, Alfred F. Jones, as I have for as long as I have known you. First as a son, then a brother, and now a lover...'_"

Francis began choking over the words. Everyone was staring at him with utter shock, they all knew what he was reading.

Arthur's suicide note.

"'_I would hate me, too, Alfred, believe me. I just felt it was my time. I am going through hardships, and I do indeed have some sort of depression. I just felt that this way, I could escape all the pain. The pain from me being as a failure of a brother to you and Peter, to being the punching bag of my older brothers, to being abused both physically and mentally by Ivan, Gilbert, and occasionally that stupid Frog, Francis. It's not their fault, though, it's all mine._

_It's my time to leave, but it is yours to shine! You can do so much better than me, a grouchy old man with no self-respect. I would have done it anyway. Don't think you didn't make a difference, because you truly did. You helped me hang on, for a while at least. I'm sorry. Please never forget... I loved you first._

_Yours forever,_

_Arthur'_"

Matthew began crying loudly, and Francis rushed to him, pulling him in a tight hug.

"Oh Francis, we were too late..."


End file.
